Alive With The Glory
by LaVioleBlanche
Summary: Sequel to "I Wanna Do Bad Things With You" and "Destroy Everything You Touch". There's a new threat in town, and it seems hellbent on tearing Ivan and Tony apart... in more ways than one. M/M Terrible, terrible summary.
1. When I Watch You

Blah blah blah, I don't own Iron man, blah blah blah.

~::~

"Sir?"

"_No_. I refuse to acknowledge your robotic existence right now, Jarvis."

"Sir, I believe you should see this..."

The flatscreen in the wall of Tony Stark's bedroom flickers to life. A pretty blonde reporter, framed by burning buildings and rubble and screaming, crying people, informs her viewers that there appears to be an unknown creature rampaging through the downtown area, blah blahdy blah, no signs of stopping, blah blah, can't someone help, blah blah blah.

"Urrrghhhh..." The 'someone' the reporter is referring to kicks the sheets away and sits up reluctantly. "Okayyy."

Next to him, the man who was, until about a month ago, his arch-nemesis, makes a disgruntled, not-quite-awake noise, and Tony turns and plants a loud smooch on the ex-con's shoulder, just to annoy him. "Gotta go save the world. Keep yourself warm for me. Be back soon."

He starts to stand, but Vanko rolls over and locks an arm around his waist, dragging him back. "Wha-"

The Russian growls and presses their mouths together, hard, teeth and tongue insistent, and Tony finds himself caring less and less about whatever's happening downtown and more and more about Ivan's hand creeping downward.

"Well," he says, kissing a trail across his lover's jaw, "I guess," _kiss_ "I could," _kiss_ "postpo-_oh_-one for a bit." He groans as rough fingers stroke the skin just below his waistband. "Let the- the cops or... or the _Aaahh_vengers or some _ah_ body _oh_ take _mm_ care of it..."

Suddenly the warmth of Vanko's hand and the pressure of his lips are gone, leaving Tony hanging in midair, grinding against nothing.

"What- hey!" He sits up indignantly as the villain lays back down, looking for all the world like he's going back to sleep. "Hey!"

One eye opens. "What?"

Ohhh, he didn't! "What d'you mean, 'what'? Make with the rubbing and the shenanigans, you damn Russian tease!" Stark is absolutely livid with frustrated lust.

"_Nyet_."

"'Nyet'? Fuck that, no 'nyet'! Don't even try to tell me you're 'not in the mood'; you're the one that started it!"

"_Da_. Now go save the world." Smirking, Vanko waves a dismissive hand.

"Well- so- wha... why... agh! What'd you get me all hot and bothered for?"

Ivan's grin grows. "Make you angry. _Вы боретесь лучше, когда Вы сердиты_." (You fight better when you're angry.) He almost-but-doesn't-quite add _And to make sure you come back_. Instead he rolls over again, buries his head in his pillow.

"You're evil," Tony says with absolute conviction as he pulls on an undershirt. "You are a terrible, terrible human being."

Vanko just snorts and tugs the blankets up. "Don't worry; I will be here still when you return."

"You better be," The American grouses, opening the door and and stepping into the hall. As he nears the kitchen on his way to the garage, he softens his footsteps, trying to pass without alerting-

"Twoooiit!"

_Fuck_. Tony ducks just in time to avoid the feathery white missile that launches itself at his head. He rolls, dives behind a table.

The bird- as of yet it has no name beyond the insults that the billionaire hurls at it- lands on the table and fixes him with a beady-eyed glare.

"God, I hate you so much," Stark says, slowly reaching for the cabinet next to him. "Thaaat's right, that's a gooood little hellbird. Staaayyy." The demonic little creature watches him, taking a menacing step forward and clicking its beak. "Yeah, yeah, yeah." He opens the cabinet and pulls the bag of birdfood from it. "I'm getting your fucking breakfast, you monster." He pries the bag open and pours a little heap of seed onto the table. The bird cocks its head, considering its choices: bird food, or Tony's fingers. After a moment or two, it bends its head and begins to peck at the seed. Tony immediately makes for the door, moving as quickly as possible.

Something squelches under his foot. "Aww, no." He looks down. Yep. "Ohhh, you mother_fucker_!" As he grabs a paper towel and wipes the crap from between his toes, he considers, for the thousandth time, the possibility of arranging a "tragic accident" for the little bundle of avian evil. It's only the memory of the look on Ivan's face (and the hours and hours of grateful sex that followed) when he got the damn thing that keeps the wealthy inventor from throwing it into the broiler.

Still flicking bits of poo from his instep, he heads down to the garage and suits up. Within minutes, he is en route.

By the time he arrives at the site, all the screaming people, reporters, and lookie-loos have realized that close proximity is hazardous to their health and have moved back a few blocks to watch. Half a dozen buildings reduced to smoldering rubble alerts the superhero to this new threat's location: standing atop an apartment complex, surveilling the damage it's done.

Well, Ivan was right about one thing for sure: whatever this thing is, Tony is in the mood to fucking MURDER it.

As he approaches, his optics zoom in on the target, trying to discern as much as possible. Unfortunately there's not much to discern; the thing (gender doesn't seem to apply) is about eight feet tall and appears to be made of obsidian.

Whatever it is, it's waiting for him. It raises an arm and fires what looks like a black stalactite at him. He swerves, banks upward, and replies with a low-setting blast from his left palm; testing the waters. The thing dodges with inhuman speed and leaps toward him.

Iron Man has just enough time to swing a punch at the creature's head, hoping to knock it to the ground and finish this from the air. Instead of resisting, though, the thing's skull _absorbs_ his fist, the skin rippling as his arm sinks in to the wrist.

"What the-" He jerks in midair, dropping a few feet as the full weight of the black being bears down on him, nearly wrenching his shoulder from its socket. He has Jarvis quickly adjust his thrusters, yanking back as the creature hangs suspended from his arm, deadweight. Screw obsidian, this thing is made of _tar_, and it doesn't seem too keen to get his fist out of its head. In fact, that appears to have been its plan. It brings a hand up once more, and the superhero sees another spike begin to form, aimed at his head.

Tony weaves back and forth, trying to shake his limb free, but the tar-creature hangs on like a limpet. He ducks just in time to feel the projectile scrape across the top of his helmet.

"Jeez!" He darts to the side, dragging his new parasite along. "Ease up, man or lady or whatever you are! What the hell did I do to you?"

The thing doesn't answer, but he sees a third harpoon forming. "Okay, you brought this on yourself!" Adjusting his thrusters once more, he focuses ten percent more power to the captured hand and fires a beam directly into the sticky mass of the being's head.

It's definitely not the result he was hoping for; the creature's head explodes in a burst of oily black ropes, and for half a second he's free of its grip- but then the ropes snap together, twining back into the shape of a head, its arms shooting out to wrap around his throat. He zigzags, firing a blast from his chest into the thing's torso as he claws at the oozing, solid mass crawling up his neck. The blast punches a hole in the creature, but it's instantly sealed, black and seamless. The arms are starting to melt, turning into a kind of living goo that seeps itself into every crack and crevice in his armor. Strands of darkness crawl across his visor, weaving together to blind him.

"Jarvis," he chokes, "Switch viewer to-" he doesn't get to finish the command before the black strands are forcing their way under his helmet, wrenching it from his head just as they hit the ground.

For a moment, everything is obscured by a cloud of dust and smoke, kicked up by the impact. The people watching from the sidelines take a few fearful, morbidly curious steps closer.

The dust settles, ghosting away to reveal Iron Man staggering backward, ripping threads of blackness from his arms, chest, and face. The threads fall, only to be replaced by more as the creature advances. Tony fires blast after blast, and twice the new villain stumbles, but each time it stands back up and continues, swinging arms that become blades, slicing scores across his armor.

"Divert all power to chest plate," he says urgently, and he manages to blast off one of the thing's legs. He feels a brief flash of victory, but the limb is swiftly re-grown. "Well, it was worth a try." He forces himself, as always, to sound chipper, but his brain is frantically scanning for options, any options, and finding none. He doesn't have enough power left to fly, and the blasts are having little-to-no effect. He is, in a word, fucked. He should feel sadness, he guesses, and anger- and he does feel anger, of course, but really, the strongest emotion he feels is disappointment. Disappointment in himself as a hero, for being defeated. Disappointment in himself as a scientist for not getting the chance to study this thing, figure out what makes it tick. And another illogical, bone-deep disappointment in himself for lying to Ivan this morning.

_Gotta go save the world... Be back soon._

He fires another three blasts, sending shockwaves through the creature's liquid flesh, and it throws a loop of python-strong arm around his throat once more, crushing his windpipe and forcing him to his knees. His vision starts to blur; he fires again, misses. His lungs burn.

Through the pounding, ringing pulse in his ears- the sound of the arc reactor working hard to keep up with his frantically beating heart- he imagines that he hears the roar of an engine approaching, the scream of a crowd. He wonders vaguely if he's hallucinating the memory of the racetrack.

And then, the most beautiful sound-

-the hum of electricity-

_Ssshh_ _CRACK_!

The sound of a whip.

Tony gasps as the vice around his neck loosens. His vision broadens and sharpens, tinged in red.

The creature stumbles back, a coil of crackling, popping light around its own throat.

Vanko snarls and yanks hard, hauling the monster backward. The energy whip saws into the thing's neck, searing and burning through the skin, deeper and deeper. The strange being lets out a high-pitched, radio-static scream, grabbing at the whip only to pull its hands away, scorched and smoking.

Iron Man sways upright, massaging his throat and wheezing, and stares in amazement at the six feet of pissed-off Russian that's currently garroting the thing that tried to kill him. Ivan peers over the creature's shoulder, baring his gold-plated teeth in a feral, murderous grin, a toothpick clamped between them.

"_Привет_, Tony. _Как делa_?" (Hi, Tony. How are things?) He grunts and tugs with all his might, and the scream dies to a gurgle as the thing's head parts from its shoulders and thuds to the ground. He snaps the other whip around its waist and pulls again, and the creature's torso falls, arms still twitching. The whips crack again, parting arms from chest, legs from hips, again and again until there's nothing but squirming bits of black goo on the ground. He stomps on one near his foot, then spits on it. He straightens, switches off the whips, and grabs Stark's arm, hauling him to his feet.

"What- the hell- are you- doing- here?" Tony asks, his throat raw.

"Not very grateful," Vanko smirks. "I saw on the television, how you were getting- _каково слово_? (What's the word?) -getting your ass handed to you. I took your car and came here."

"Where- where did you- get- another set- of whips- so fast?"

"Made them. In my spare time, in your lab." Tony's legs give out, and Ivan throws an arm around him, supporting him, then looks annoyed with himself for doing so.

"You- have no- idea- how much- I wanna- do you- right now," the winded hero grins weakly.

"Probably not great idea," the ex-con jerks his head toward the crowd, which is slowly but surely making its way toward them.

"Fine," the American croaks, "but you're getting a handjob in the car and you can't stop me."

Vanko rolls his eyes and opens the passenger side door of the "borrowed" car, sliding his rival inside. "Stay," he orders with a leer.

"Wha- where are- you going?" Tony sits up, confused.

His answer comes in the screams of the crowd as they scatter once more. Ivan turns and looks over his shoulder at the hulking mass of black that's reforming some twenty metres away. "Your new friend is getting back up."

"Joy," Stark groans.

The Russian turns back to him, arching an eyebrow. "Maybe is time to call your Ahhvengers, _da_?"

"Solid plan, smartass." Tony reaches for his cell. "See- if you can grab- my helmet- while you're out there- getting your ass kicked."

Whiplash shuts the door and cracks his weapons at the creature, slicing a burning line down its midsection. It screeches, heaves itself up into some semblance of a body, and hurls a long tentacle of fluid lethality at him, mimicking his attacks. He jumps sideways, lands in the rubble on his side, and is up and running in less than a second. The monster leaps after him, cutting off his path, and he weaves to the right like a footballer, diving under its arm and coming up behind it with Tony's helmet under one arm. He scores a jagged crack down its back, snaps off a limb, and ducks as it swings at him once more. He grabs a burning board from the remains of a bus stop and throws it like a javelin, stabbing into the small of the beast's back.

It was probably meant to be a distraction, something to buy a little time, but it proves to be more effective than anyone anticipates: the thing howls, unearthly and ear-shattering, and bursts into flame. Its skin boils and pops and spits like hot oil, and from the car Tony wonders if he wasn't that far off with his "made-of-tar" theory. The flames climb higher, consuming its head as it writhes and screams, and Ivan pelts it with lashes for good measure, following it as it spasms its way across the street.

"Oh, shit," Stark rasps as he realizes where it's heading. He opens the door, stumbles out, and shouts, "Ivan! It's going for the hydrant-!"

It's too late; the burning shape latches onto a fire hydrant and pries it apart, sending jets of water in every direction. The air fills with hissing and thick, grey-black steam, and Tony hurries toward the two blurry shapes. The one illuminated by twin lines of electricity turns toward him and yells, "_Nyet_! I said stay!"

"Sorry," Iron Man shouts hoarsely as he fires up what's left of the suit's power. "I can't hear you over the sound of you fucking up and setting shit on fire!"

The Russian snarls and throws the helmet; Tony catches it and snaps it on once again, running diagnostics as the creature gurgles and smokes. He's at about forty percent power, and he immediately fires a test shot at the monster, knocking it to the ground. It rages at him, no longer bothering to maintain a humanoid shape, and lurches toward him at an impossible speed, sliding over the concrete like an oil spill. It rears up about three metres in front of him, and he fires into what looks roughly like its belly. Ivan snaps a whip around its middle, holding it as the American hero fires again. The thing makes a noise like a train whistle, squirming, then turns and swings a bladed limb at Vanko, impaling his side.

"Ivan!" Tony runs forward, but the creature blocks him with a dozen arms.

Whiplash coughs, sprays blood from between his gritted teeth, and stumbles, but refuses to release his hold on the black being. It roars, twists the spike. He roars right back at it, calling it god-knows-what in Russian, and yanks at the whip, digging into its flesh.

Stark is blasting limb after limb, trying to reach the injured man, and he doesn't notice a second car approaching until someone appears next to him, arms raised at the creature. A bluish glow fills the air, forms a kind of bubble around the monster, and it twists, all limbs suddenly withdrawn or severed, seemingly trapped by the orb.

"What in the what?" Tony turns to look at the figure beside him.

She's blonde, about five foot seven, and she's wearing a blue suit with the number 4 on it and an irritated expression. Behind her, looking casually grim, Nick Fury nods at Iron Man.

"Morning, Stark. Got your call."

Tony's not listening; he's running, ducking under the hovering ball of energy that holds the creature captive, to where Vanko is leaning against a smoldering bench, grimacing and holding his side. "Ivan." He raises his visor, bends to get a better look at the wound. It's not pretty. It doesn't seem to have hit any internal organs, which is a relief, but the pearly gleam of bone is visible between Whiplash's fingers.

"_Все хорошо. Уйти_." (I'm fine. Get away.) The bleeding man shoves ineffectively at Stark's shoulder with his free hand.

"Bullshit. C'mon, get your ass in the car." Iron Man slings an arm around the taller man's waist and helps him stand upright. After a moment or two of wincing and trying to resist, Vanko gives in and leans his weight on the hero.

"I think..." He spits a stream of blood to one side. "I think handjob... will have to... wait."

"You pick the worst times to get a sense of humor," Tony mutters. The two of them limp their way toward the car as the blonde woman glides the orb away, the prisoner safely inside. Nick Fury approaches them, glancing back at the still-hesitant crowd about a block and a half away.

"Nice timing, Fury," the billionaire comments as they draw near each other. "Good to know that number you gave me works."

There's the sudden _chopchopchop_ of a helicopter above them, and Tony looks up to see a black SWAT copter lowering toward the ground. A dozen black-clad men, armed to the teeth, drop out of it and land with weapons raised.

"You guys, on the other hand, have crappy timing," Stark shakes his head and takes a few more steps toward the car, not liking at all the way Ivan's gone kind of quiet and is leaning more and more heavily on him, red drops spattering the dirt. "You're a little late, guys," Tony continues, "Us and the nice lady in blue have already taken care of it."

The SWAT guys pay no attention to his snarky words; they form a circle around the two men, guns leveled at them. Before either of them can voice confusion or surprise, a voice booms from a loudspeaker over the roar of the chopper:

"Ivan Vanko, step away and place your hands in the air! Resist, and you _will_ be shot!"


	2. I Won't Let Them Take You

Ho_kay_, so I'm not a hundred percent on this chapter. I may change it depending on the response. Regardless, here it is!

~::~

"_What_?" Tony glances rapidly from face to face, gun to gun. "What are you talking-"

"I said raise your hands, Vanko! Step away and slowly make your way over to agent Fury!"

Ivan groans, half-stands, and Stark turns his head to shoot Fury a look of incredulous rage. "Are you crazy? He's bleeding out; get the hell out of the way!"

The one-eyed man shakes his head, mouth a thin line. "Can't do that, Stark. You knew the rules from the start: he stays in your house or he goes to jail. He's not in your house. So he's gotta go to jail."

Three SWAT guys step forward, wary, one holding handcuffs, and Vanko lifts his head, sneers at them but makes no move to reactivate the whips. It's Tony, surprisingly, that raises an arm and aims his glowing palm at the closest man. "Don't try it, guys."

They freeze, but Fury immediately produces a Beretta and points it at the wounded man's head. "Don't make me do this, Tony. If he comes quietly we'll dress the wound on the way."

Ivan coughs again, and Iron Man wonders for a fevered second if the wound that thing gave him is poisoned, and then the Russian spits a clot of black-red onto the ground and grunts in a voice like a chainsaw, "_Не будьте настолько гребаные глупый, Тони_." (Don't be so fucking stupid, Tony.)

Still clutching his side with a gore-soaked hand, Vanko pushes himself away from Stark and takes three dragging, laborious steps toward Fury, his face contorted with effort. He halts, swaying, and the man with the cuffs quickly comes up behind him, snapping them around his free hand. He grimaces and pries his bloody hand away from the wound, lifts it, and extends his middle finger at the Avenger. "_Трахните Вас, американского осла_." (Fuck you, American jackass.)

Then he collapses face-down in the dirt.

It takes four SWAT guys to haul the unconscious Russian into the chopper, and another ten to keep Tony from grabbing him and flying away.

"God_dammit_, Fury, you don't have to do this. He didn't _do_ anything, except save my ass from getting killed!" Iron Man paces like a caged tiger, trying to think of some way to get between Ivan and that Beretta.

"I don't have any say in this, Stark. It's not my call." Nick says sternly, keeping his gun leveled at Vanko.

The copter takes off in a whirl of grit and smoke, leaving only Fury and Tony and the still-distant crowd.

"Try to calm down," the man in the eyepatch says. "They'll stitch the injury and get him taken care of before they arrive at the prison." He tilts his head, considering. "You're overreacting, Tony. I'm surprised you're not relieved to be rid of the responsibility."

"Look, you don't _get_ it; he's- we-"

"Oh, I know all about that," Fury states in that same monotone. "We knew your intentions the minute you paid his bail; it's not our duty to judge or condone. What _matters_ is that he broke the rules of his... parole. You knew those rules when you sprung him."

The billionaire grits his teeth in frustration. _Screw the rules, I have money! I should be able to buy us out of this_. "There's gotta be someone I can talk to."

"Not til his court date is decided." There's that contemplative, monoptic gaze again. "Didn't you say from the beginning that you planned on having him for a week, no more? That you were going to, and I'm quoting here, 'put him back when you were done playing with him'?"

Did he say that? That was the plan, wasn't it? He's not sure. That's always been his plan before. Wasn't he supposed to say "You're hot, that was amazing, it's never happening again, have fun in prison"?

He can't remember.

"Look," Fury sighs, seemingly relenting to the lost expression on Stark's face. "Go home. Get some rest. Screw a secretary or three. Leave Vanko to the proper authorities."

Tony snorts. "The proper authorities. I hate that phrase."

"Go home," the Avenger repeats. "There's nothing you can do."

For the second time that day, Iron Man considers opening fire on a US government official. He holds Fury's stare for a long moment.

"Yeah," he says finally. "I guess you're right."

(Five Days Later...)

"Tony!" It's Pepper, stopping by like she has been every morning since "The Incident" to make sure that Stark is still breathing.

"Uhnguhwaayyy."

"Tony, are you still in bed?"

"Hngrghh."

A pause.

"Uh, Tony, are you aware that there's a cockatoo attacking your door?"

"Kill it," he groans, burying his head under a pillow.

The door opens, and the bird immediately comes shooting into the room. It lands on the bed and begins plucking at the blankets, like it's expecting to find its owner hiding under them.

"Go away, bird," Tony growls, waving irritably at it. It snaps at his fingers and continues to savage the bedding.

Pepper's shoes click across the floor; he can practically hear her wrinkling her nose at the bottles scattered over the carpet. Suddenly there's the sound of the curtains being thrown open, and daggers of sunlight assault Tony's eyeballs.

"Nooooooo..." He burrows into the sheets, but Pepper grabs them and rips them away.

"Aaargh-" Stark tries to curl in on himself, hiding his eyes under his arm. "Leave me alone! Can't you let me die in peace?"

"Nope," she goes to his closet, starts flinging clothing at him. "You need help; it's my job to help you. If that entails kicking your ass out of a drunken stupor, so be it."

"Leeme 'lone," he complains. "I'm _fine_."

"Tony. You missed your own birthday party."

"Really?" He lifts his head, blinks, drops it. "Did anyone notice?"

"Get up," she orders.

"Whyyyy?"

"So you can visit him. Where did all your ties go?"

"'Him'? Who 'him'? I have no clue who you mean."

"What are you, five?" Pepper's voice scolds him from the closet. "There they are- okay, seriously?" She comes out, holding up the noose that Tony has fashioned out of neckties. "This is not healthy."

"I thought you said I wasn't allowed to visit him," he snipes, rolling over in hopes of finding a stray blanket.

"You weren't. Not for the first three days-"

"It's been five days!"

"-and then he spent two days in the infirmary-"

Tony's head pops back up. "The infirmary? What happened? Did they get the wound stitched in time? Did someone shank him?"

"-and _now_ you can visit him, since he's been declared in 'decent health' by the prison doctor." She hands her old boss a pair of socks. "Decent enough to stand trial, anyway."

The hungover billionaire is already out of bed, trying to pull his clothes on and run down the hall at the same time. "You couldn't have just _told_ me that when you came in?"

"Maybe I was having too much fun watching you wallow in your misery." She says with a little half-grin. "Oh, Tony," she calls.

"What? I'm in a hurry!"

The grin grows. She holds up a bundle of cloth. "You may want to put on some pants."


	3. I Won't Let You Down

Okay, new chappie! COURTROOM DRAMA! And also, Hammer is a dick.

~::~

The visiting cell of the Kovacs Maximum Security Prison is not what could be called "comfortable" or "cheery". In fact, it's even less homey than the cell Tony and Ivan conversed for the first time in. This one has no windows, and is about half the size of the other. The corners of the room are worryingly damp and spotty-looking. All in all, it's not the ideal place for a reunion. Tony could not care less. He's pacing anxiously, adjusting and readjusting his tie as he waits for the guards to bring Vanko.

Finally, the door opens and four uniformed men with nightsticks and pistols escort the prisoner inside. Ivan looks vaguely amused by the amount of security, in spite of the heavy cuffs that bind his left arm to his body, his right arm slung in a cast. He shuffles in, his ankles fettered, and Stark catches, for the briefest split second, the unguarded, unadulterated pleasure in his eyes as he recognizes his visitor. The expression is gone in a blink, replaced by the usual indifferent scowl as the guards unchain his feet and arm and, at a nod from Tony, exit the room.

Vanko makes his way over to the cement bench in the center of the room and sits heavily, gripping his wounded side and wincing for an instant. Tony immediately takes a step toward him, hands outstretched automatically to help, but Ivan waves him away. They watch one another for a few moments, eyes scanning each other's faces and bodies. After a dozen breaths or so, Stark clears his throat.

"So, uh. How are you?"

The imprisoned man shrugs his good shoulder. "Like I said first time: Amerikanski guards are pussies."

"Ivan. Your arm is broken."

"Eh."

Tony can't take it; it's been too long since he's seen Vanko, touched him. His nerves are raw, tense under his skin, and he feels like a junkie in need of a fix. Eternally grateful to the guard he bribed to turn off the cameras, he steps forward and locks his arms around Ivan's neck, presses his mouth to the prisoner's. Vanko tenses, unmoving, and Tony nips at his lower lip, insistent but careful not to bump either the broken arm or the bandages around the Russian's side. He dips his head, sucks and nuzzles his way down Ivan's jaw to his throat, and feels the larger man's free hand come up to dig into his shoulder, rumpling the suit Stark's wearing. Tony brings their mouths together again, and Whiplash's lips part, engaging and addictive. The American grips a handful of thick, unwashed hair, pulling it free of its loose topknot, pressing them closer, and brings his other hand down to carefully- almost tenderly- map the scarred, tattooed expanse of torso under Ivan's grey prison-issue shirt. His breath catches for a second when he feels a new line of stitches down the villain's stomach- testament to the guards or fellow inmates or who-the-hell-knows taking advantage of Vanko's pre-injured condition. He lifts the fabric, taking in the sight. The bruises and scrapes aren't surprising, really, but there are an awful lot of them.

"Where'd this come from?" Tony asks, running a fingertip down the fresh stitches.

Ivan glances down, shrugs. "Cellmate." He grins. "_Ex_-cellmate."

"Crazy bastard," the hero cranes his head briefly and brushes his lips over the new injury, then straightens and kisses Vanko again, harder, teeth and tongues and lips all crushing together, hands greedy, wondering in the back of his mind if there's time for more than kissing. Ivan groans, giving in like he almost always does, and lets his hand crawl up under the hem of Tony's shirt, his legs falling open to let the hero settle between them in the comfortable position that they've become so used to.

Panting a little, Stark pulls away. "I'm gonna get you out of here," he says, somewhat abruptly. "You know that, right?"

Ivan half-frowns, opens his mouth to speak, but suddenly the door behind them swings open.

"Oh, for crying out loud! Can't I leave you two alone together for five minutes without you mounting each other?" Pepper exclaims in exasperation as the door shuts behind her.

"Apparently not," Tony grins and stands reluctantly back, untangling his fingers from Vanko's hair. "Sorry."

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure you are. I dunno how you put up with him," she adds to Ivan.

The Russian almost chuckles. "Too much electric shock to head; lowers inhibitions."

It's always entertaining to Tony to watch Pepper and Vanko converse; Pepper has clearly never forgotten all the times she's walked in on him and Tony, and Ivan has clearly had little-to-no female interaction (which makes sense- you don't meet a lot of women in Russian prison). The result is a kind of awkward, polite insecurity from Vanko, and a sort of mildly amused, sisterly concern from Miss Potts.

"So," Stark says, tucking his shirt back in. "How long is it gonna take to bribe the judge and get him released?"

Pepper bites her lip. That's not a good sign. She glances down and shifts the files in her arms. That's an even worse sign.

"The thing is... S.H.I.E.L.D. is choosing the judge."

"...Shit," Tony's shoulders sag. "Well... so what is he being charged with, specifically? I mean... it's not like he killed anybody or attacked anyone."

Another lip-bite. "They're charging him with attempted murder."

"_What_? Of _who_?" Stark is incredulous. Even Vanko frowns, like he's going over a list of who it could be. "He hasn't had contact with anyone but you and me for since I bailed him!"

"Tony Stark," Pepper says slowly.

"What? I'm right here."

"No," she shakes her head and looks down at the files again. "They're charging him with the attempted murder of Tony Stark."

Silence.

"_What_?"

The door slams open. "Mr. Stark. Your visiting time is up."

"But-"

"Tony Stark! Whattya know!" Justin Hammer appears behind the guard like the horrible final nail in the coffin of Tony's Official Day of Bad News. He steps forward and slaps Stark on the shoulder, grinning smugly. "Didn't know you were here; how's it goin'?"

A wise man would grit his teeth and walk away. An unwise man would punch Hammer in the face. Tony goes with Option #3. He thumps the weapons producer's shoulder, so hard that Hammer goes "oomph", and grins right back. "Can't complain, Justin. How's it been with you? Didn't you invent some sort of new water-powered engine? No, wait, that was me. Oh, right, you developed a new self-sustaining energy system- hmm, nope, that was me again. Huh. What _have_ you been doing with all your time?"

That works. The grin is gone faster than he can blink, and the younger man pulls his hand away and adjusts his glasses. Behind them comes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a large Russian man trying not to laugh. Hammer and Stark stare at each other with narrowed eyes for a few moments, the smile still frozen on Tony's face.

"Well, I'd love to get lunch sometime and tell you all about it," Justin says, forcing a friendly expression that bears a strong resemblance to the look of the extremely constipated.

"Absolutely. Have your people call my people." Tony slaps his arm one more time and turns to go, glancing over his shoulder to see Ivan shaking his head and chuckling silently. He has to weave his way through all the extra guards that Hammer has brought along. Pepper follows, shuffling papers and ignoring catcalls as they head down the hall and duck into a vacant office.

The instant they're alone, Tony drops the act and spins to face his assistant. "This is insane! If they're accusing him of attacking me, can't I just retract the charges?"

"No." She flips open a file. "The state is the one prosecuting, not you."

"So I just take the stand and tell them that he didn't attack me!"

She shakes her head. "They're not calling you to the stand. The DA is claiming that you're traumatized and can't recall the events correctly."

"That's bullshit!"

"That's what cases like this are built on, Tony; you know that!"

"Aagh!" He slams a palm against the wall. He's quiet for a moment, running over his options. "What if I held a press conference? Just went ahead and explained to people that Ivan and I are-"

Pepper's eyes widen in shock. "You _can't_. Are you crazy? Tony, do you know what that would _do_ to the company?"

"But it would be enough, doing something like that? If word got out that we're involved, it would mess up the DA's case. Right?"

"..._Yes_, but-"

"I'm doing it." He turns, but she blocks his exit.

"Tony. You can't."

"So you expect me to... what?" He snaps. "Just sit back and let him go back to prison? Just forget about him and pretend everything's fine? Jesus, Pepper!"

"No. I'm saying we have to think of another way to get him cleared."

He sighs, frustrated and tired and worried. "Wait. What about the crowd? All those people watching the fight, even from a distance, they could testify, they could-"

"Hammer's already gotten to them," Pepper leafs through the open folder, shaking her head. "Everyone that could could have stood trial has either been threatened or bribed into silence."

"GodDAMMIT!" He spins and kicks a chair with such vehemence that it flies across the room and hits the wall, a leg snapping off. "I can't- I don't- AAARRGH, I can't _think_!" He collapses into the other chair, kneading his forehead.

Pepper chuckles.

_Okay_, Tony thinks, _not exactly the reaction I was expecting_. "What the hell's so funny?"

She shakes her head. "You," she says, still smiling. "The high and mighty Tony Stark, brought to Earth by down and dirty Ivan Vanko. There's a movie to be made here somewhere, I swear."

"Not helping, Pepper."

She nods. "Okay. You know what you need to do?"

"Kill the judge and jury?" He asks without looking up.

"No."

"Kill Fury?"

"No."

"Kill Hammer?"

"...Possibly, but not what I had in mind. Tony," she taps his head, getting his attention. "I never thought I'd say this, but you need to use your wealth and influence to exploit the corrupt judicial system. Basically, you need to be Tony Stark."

He blinks, slowly raises his head, and grins. "I can do that."

**Court the Next Day**... (Cue the Law&Order music: DA-dunnn!)

"The prosecution calls Ivan Vanko to the stand."

Ivan rises, shackles clinking, and makes his way to the box. Tony, seated at the back of the courtroom (he was directly behind Vanko at first, but the judge ordered him to move after five minutes of him protesting the handcuffs Ivan was in), watches anxiously as the Russian is sworn in.

The DA stands, doing that slow, sauntering approach that he no doubt picked up from The Rainmaker or some other movie. "_Mis_ter Vanko. Can you describe, in a word, your feelings toward Tony Stark?"

Everyone tenses for a moment. Ivan frowns, considering, and finally answers with a wry half-grin. "Complicated."

Tony smirks. The DA makes a little huffy noise and continues.

"And is it true, _Mis_ter Vanko, that your first contact with Mister Stark was when you attacked him on a racetrack a month and a half ago?"

"Da."

"And isn't it true that your father, Anton Vanko, raised you to hate the Stark family?"

"Yes."

"And yet yesterday you entered a plea of 'not guilty' for the attack on Mister Stark a week ago-"

"Nyet."

"What?" Everyone in the courtroom looks up in surprise.

From the back of the room, Tony stares in confusion and trepidation at the villain, who refuses to meet his gaze.

Vanko clears his throat. "I... change my plea. I attacked Stark. I try to kill him."


	4. I'll Make You Say

The court is absolutely silent for exactly three heartbeats.

One.

Tony pulls a breath into his lungs, his throat still raw and sore from the deadly coil the creature had around it, the blackness that would have killed him if not for Vanko.

Two.

He slams his palms against the seat in front of him, pushes himself up, trying to catch Ivan's gaze, waiting, in this suspended moment, for the villain to smirk or wink. Stark needs to be reassured that this is all part of the Russian's plan somehow.

Three.

Ivan's eyes flick up for just an instant, locking onto Tony's for the slightest fraction of a second, and Tony sees-

nothing.

There's no smirk, no nod, no indication. There's just a horrible, wrenching emptiness. Stark recognizes it; it's the look he saw in Whiplash's eyes as he tried to choke the life out of Iron Man at the racetrack. Something is lost in that look.

And then the world explodes in a burst of voices and scraping chairs and stomping feet as the uproar fills the room. The judge slams the gavel down, calling at first for order, then for the bailiff to escort the prisoner back to his cell when it becomes apparent that 'order' is not going to happen.

The guards grab Vanko's shoulders and haul him away through the back door, but his eyes are still locked on Tony's. His gaze slips for a second, falls to someone sitting in the front row- Tony can't see who it is, but he recognizes that ash-blonde slick of hair. Ivan's hollow stare twists, transforms into a look of raw, absolute loathing for whoever-it-is, and then the bailiff gives him a shove and the door closes behind him.

The blonde head turns.

"Son of a bitch," Stark shoots a glare of his own at that face.

Hammer- of course it's Hammer, recognizable in spite of the mottled facefull of bruises and the nose splint- nods at his business opponent in greeting. He tilts his head slightly, raises an eyebrow, and grins. Tony does not like that grin at all. It's a grin that says "for once I have the upper hand, and I intend to use it to my full advantage". It's a look that says "kiss your Russian goodbye".

**The day before...**

Ivan would never admit this, not even under the worst torture the Russian mob could come up with, but he's been looking forward to a visit from Tony. No, of course he didn't _miss_ the American; that would be like admitting that he enjoys his company. He just... doesn't like being separated from him. At all. So when he walks into the visiting cell, ready for another session with his state-appointed lawyer who doesn't understand a word he says, and sees Stark standing there looking like a highschooler waiting for his prom date, Ivan can't help but feel a little shock of surprised pleasure go up his spine. Then Tony asks how he is, gets worried about his arm and actually seems to be _genuinely_ _concerned_ about his well-being- which is something no one's done since his mother died. So yes, maybe he's a little pleased to see the spoiled, rich playboy. And yes, maybe he's more than a little anxious- worried that maybe Stark is here to tell him that "it's been fun, you're a great lay, have fun in prison"- but no way in hell is Tony going to know that. Ever. It's this mindset that makes him hesitant when the billionaire rushes forward and kisses him, paws at him like a horny teenager, but within moments Ivan is kissing back, because he can't help himself and because maybe he can convince Tony this way, convince him to keep Vanko around a little longer, to bail him out one more time.

He shouldn't have worried, he realizes, because after a few heated seconds of mouths and hands, the hero pulls away and says with intense sincerity, "I'm gonna get you out of here. You know that, right?"

If he were a weaker man, he'd be grinning like an idiot. But he's Ivan Vanko, so he satisfies himself with a half-nod and a silent thanks. Pepper Potts comes in, and it's weirdly nice to see her too. She reminds Ivan of the vague memories he has of his neighbor's daughter, who used to babysit him as a child until she was sold by her parents to the mob. She had red hair, too, he remembers, and used to make him jam sandwiches and show him American movies (his favorite was Bonnie and Clyde). Pepper explains the details she's gleaned, and Ivan half-listens for a few minutes, watching Stark's reaction to the charges.

Then the door opens again and in walks the man that seems determined to win the gold medal in mood-killing.

Hammer and Stark exchange false pleasantries while the posse of guards the younger man brought re-cuff Vanko and surround him. He's so removed from it all, distracted by the wealthy Americans' banter and the lingering taste of Tony, that he doesn't even glare at them as they snap the locks back on. Stark and Pepper depart, Tony casting a glance over his shoulder back at the Russian, who can't help but smile a little, feeling reassured in spite of himself.

"Morning, Mr. Vanko," Hammer beams, all enthusiastic poison and salesmanship, almost hiding the quick dart of his eyes over the rumpled prison uniform, the way they narrow at the villain's tangled hair and the red mark that is still livid on his neck. "Well. I see we've been having a nice visit with Mr. Stark, hmm?"

Ivan doesn't answer; he shoots the younger man a look so cold that three of the guards take nervous little shuffles back.

"Ohh, c'mon, now, fellas," Hammer gestures at the bound prisoner. "Is all this really necessary? Mr. Vanko and I are pals. Aren't we, buddy? Pals don't need to be handcuffed around other pals, do they?" He smirks. "Well, maybe sometimes. But I think a little trust can be afforded, can't it? Mr. Vanko will behave himself." As if the Russian has much choice- he's a criminal but he's not stupid, and between his broken arm and the eight armed thugs, he knows he could only land one or two punches on this smug American bastard before he'd get hauled away and beaten half to death.

A guard steps forward and undoes the cuffs once more, and the blonde takes a seat next to him. "So, Ivan- can I call you Ivan?- tomorrow's your day in court, huh? You all set? Bit nervous? Nah, you're not nervous; you're an old hand at this, aren't you? Had plenty of practice over in good ol' Russia. From what I've looked up, you've spent nearly as much time in prison as you have out of it." He grins again, but Ivan's expression remains the same. "Well," Hammer coughs. "I gotta say, I think it's a shame that Stark got to you before I did. We coulda really done something; coulda made waves. I mean, my funds, your brains? We coulda taken the world by storm. Know what I'm saying?"

Vanko just maintains his glare, wondering what it is that makes Americans so damn chatty.

"Actually," Justin scoots a little closer, leans in conspiratorially. "I'm here to help you out."

No response. Not even a twitch.

"See... what's gonna happen is, you're gonna go to jail. That's not something anyone, even the great Tony Stark, can do anything about at this point. However," the grin grows a few teeth, "if you accept my offer, you'll only be in jail for a few days. And," another pause, dragging it out, "your precious _Tony_ won't have to go to jail at all."

Ivan squints.

"Ahh, a sign of life, at last!" Hammer throws his arms into the air in mock-victory. "I was beginning to wonder if Stark had bothered to teach you English at all. That's right, I'm here to make a deal. It goes a little something like this: you go to prison. I bust you out of prison. You come to work for me. I have all the resources and money you could need; everything you ask for. It's all at your disposal, and all I need from you is a design or two. And in exchange, I won't let certain... personal information leak to the public."

The squint becomes a frown.

"Oh, I know. You know exactly what I know. And what I know is that what you and Tony have been up to, it sure as hell isn't what the judge intended. In fact, what Tony's been doing, it's what's known as 'collaboration with a known terrorist'. You know what that means, Ivan? That means fifteen to twenty years in a federal prison. You know what that's like. Tell, me, Ivan, how well do you think the almighty Iron Man would do on the inside? All alone, separated from his fancy suit and his money and his tech and his new Russian bodyguard, in that big cold house with all the men he's helped put there. How long do you think it would take for them to break all his teeth? How long do you think it would take them to start taking turns on him? How long do you think it would take them to kill him?"

Ivan is a statue.

"Yeah, that's about what I thought." Hammer nods, looking incredibly pleased with himself. "So, then, we got us a deal? I think we got a deal." He offers a hand.

Ivan remembers Tony offering him a hand, eager and smug and almost hopeful, offering him safety with that hand. Offering him freedom. Now this man, this Hammer, is offering the same things. More, even. And in exchange for the same things- he claims he wants ideas, designs, but Ivan sees the way those pale eyes scroll over him. It's not so different. It's not.

"I'll take your silent glare as a 'yes', and I'll look forward to your performance in court tomorrow." The blonde lowers his hand, triumphant.

Ivan miscalculated- he manages to land _three_ solid punches to Hammer's clean young face, feeling the liberating crunch of cartilage and glasses and bone under his knuckles, hearing the shocked yelp of the American. Then four guards are hauling him back, twisting his broken arm back and down until he roars through his teeth, falls to his knees. A steel-toed boot slams into the stitches in his gut, and another strikes his kidneys from behind, sending him coughing to the floor. The kicks continue, interspersed with blows from their nightsticks, and from the blurred, reddened field of his vision he sees Hammer scrambling away, clutching his bloody nose and shattered glasses. His arm is twisted again. A foot stomps down, hard, on his throat. He spits a tooth, blinks blood from his eyes, and knows that the moment of victory he felt when he hit the smug bastard is only fleeting. He knows that he has no choice.


	5. Should They Catch Us

I forgot to mention: Last chapter was dedicated to Felina Fullstop (you are AWESOME! Keep up the amazing work!) and this one is dedicated to ZombieSmasher (Psst- I loooove yooouuu!) because she was so fond of the babysitter character (I hope you like your cameo!).

~::~

The instant visitors are allowed, Tony slams his way down the hall toward Ivan's holding cell. His brain is working a mile a minute, feeding his rage like firewood, and he's so caught up that he doesn't realize that Hammer's followed him until the blonde pops up at his side.

"That's some wild dog you've taken in, Stark," the younger man says as he matches strides with him.

"Oh?" Tony doesn't feel like paying much attention to Hammer's babble.

"Mm. I've been wondering how you managed to... _collar_ that one."

That's enough to grab Stark's attention; he glances sideways at Justin, who grins, eyes full of implications.

"I'll tell ya, Tony, I think I'd like to take that dog for a walk."

"Yeah?" The hero arches an eyebrow at his opponent's blatant analogy, eyes locked on the doors ahead. "That'd be a sight to see."

Hammer is allowed in first. He shoots Tony a smug look and slips into the room. Two minutes later, when he comes stumbling out with a fresh black eye, Tony shoots him a smirk of his own and steps in.

Ivan is cuffed, seated on the bench as usual, his head down. The guards nod respectfully at Stark and exit, Tony slipping them a few hundreds to turn the cameras off. He paces a few moments, watching Vanko, trying to keep from yelling.

"You're crazy, you know that?" He asks, kneading his forehead.

The prisoner doesn't respond.

Tony sighs. "Look, I know what you're doing."

"Oh?"

"C'mon, Ivan, I'm not stupid. In fact, I'm the opposite of stupid; I'm a goddamn genius." He crouches, places his palms carefully on the seated man's knees. "Ivan. Look at me."

The Russian keeps his head down. Tony smoothes his hands up Vanko's thighs, reaches up and gingerly cups his face, tilting it. He winces when he sees the patchwork of bruises and cuts across his lover's face, and he rubs a thumb tenderly over a swollen lip, wiping away a line of blood. Ivan meets his gaze at last, tired, deep-set eyes looking up from under strings of dark and light hair.

"I don't want you to do this," Stark says quietly, brushing the hair away to continue cleaning the cuts with his sleeve. "I don't want you to do this for me. I'll find another way to work this out."

Ivan swears at him in Russian, pushes his hand away (only to have it return persistently to his cheek). "Maybe I don't do this for you. And I don't need help."

"Don't be an idiot!" Tony presses a little too hard on a bruise, pulls back when Vanko hisses through his teeth. "Sorry. Just- look what this is doing to you. Don't do this. You're already hurt; you won't last in prison. No matter how many you take down, there's always more. The cops, the guards, the other prisoners- they'll kill you. And if, by some miracle, Hammer gets you out before that happens-" His voice falters, his gaze dropping. He shakes his head, forces the words out. "I can't- I can't deal with that, Ivan, I can't- you can't- he's not-" He can't say it, he's never _had_ to say it before. "I can't stand the idea of... anyone else..."

A rough hand grasps his chin, forces him to look up. "Idiot, Stark." Ivan's voice is harsh, raspy, but quiet as he leans forward. "You think I will let pathetic little man touch me? You think I will hesitate to break his neck? That I will roll over for anyone who breaks me from prison?"

The corner of Tony's mouth lifts a little. "Well, it seemed to work for me."

"_Глупый ублюдок_! (Stupid bastard!)" The hand on Stark's jaw twists, hurls him to the floor.

The hero lands on his ass and remains for a moment, looking stunned and rubbing his jaw, and in that moment Vanko stands and walks to the door, knocks until the guards open up and escort him away. Tony scrambles to his feet, follows down the hall in a jog.

"Wait- Ivan, wait-!" The doors slam shut, leaving him alone in the empty hallway, his hands at his sides.

~::~

"Go over it one more time for me?" Tony groans, head buried in his arms on his desk. It's two am and he, Rhodes and Pepper are sifting through options.

She sighs, flips open a file. "We ran every background check we could on the judge, Luz Rodriguez- the worst she's had is a parking ticket, nothing we could use to shift her view. The jury is all hand-picked by S.H.I.E.L.D., all upstanding citizens and pillars of the community, et cetera et cetera... The news crews that were on-scene at the fight have all been paid off- their footage is 'too damaged', or they weren't close enough to get a good shot."

"And Fury is unavailable to take the stand or provide any help," Rhodes adds, leaning against a wall. "Highest classification, no proof of existence, all that."

"Whyyy, god, whyy?" Stark thumps his head against the desk. "Does he hate me? Do you think he hates me?" He asks to Pepper suddenly.

"Who? God?"

"No, I don't give a crap about that guy; I know he hates me." He turns to Rhodes. "Do you think he hates me?"

"Who?" The pilot glances over his friend's head at Pepper, who mouths the word 'Vanko'. "Oh."

"Tony, don't be an idiot." Miss Potts rolls up a paper and smacks her boss with it.

"Why is everyone convinced I'm an idiot today?" The billionaire lifts his head, arms raised defensively.

"He doesn't hate you, and you _are_ an idiot for not realizing that." She crosses her arms.

"I think he's crazy. I think you're both crazy. Which is probably why you're good for each other," Rhodey says. "Your crazies balance each other out."

"That's a beautiful and touching sentiment." Tony runs a hand through his hair.

"So what do you want our game plan to be? Should I keep digging?" Pepper spreads another folder. "Maybe we can find a way to out-bid Hammer? Buy back the reporters?"

"They'll have destroyed the tapes already. Hammer's a moron, but he's not a complete moron." James rolls up his sleeves, heaves a sigh.

Suddenly Pepper's phone goes off, her Ingrid Michaelson ringtone startling all three of them. She snaps it open, answers with a tired "Hello?" and falls silent. Her eyes grow wide, and she grabs a sheet of paper and pen and starts scribbling.

"What? Who is it?" Tony sits up, craning to read the sheet.

She continues writing, nodding and saying "Okay... yes... that's fine, we can send someone right away... yes. Thank you. Thank you so much. Goodbye." She closes the phone and looks up at them, her face lit with excitement.

"What? What?" Stark glances back and forth from her face to the paper and back.

"That was an answer to one of the advertisements I posted, asking witnesses to come forth. Someone's got footage of the fight. Someone Hammer missed. I'm taking a car over to get her."

"I'll come with," Iron Man grabs his jacket and jumps up.

"Uhh, well. I'm gonna go to bed," Rhodey announces to the empty room, picking up his keys.

~::~

The girl's name is Yulia, and she's waiting outside her apartment with a video camera in one hand and a dog leash in the other. The dog is a huge, furry white thing that is ridiculously pleased to meet Pepper and Tony, and proceeds to shed all over the interior of the Cobra.

"Sorry," Yulia says, pushing her curly black hair from her eyes and forcing her dog- Cassidy- to sit still. "She just likes people. She thinks she's a cat and that every lap in the world is really her personal La-Z-Boy."

"It's fine," Pepper assures her, hands on the wheel. "So... you say you were in the city filming?"

"Yeah." The girl hands the camera over to Tony carefully. "I was shooting some stock footage for my film class, and, well, you can see..."

Stark opens the camera with shaking hands, rewinds, hits PLAY.

Blip. A pigeon pecks at a crack in the sidewalk, determined to snatch the last crumb.

Blip. A city skyline, scruffy clouds and a plane to the left.

Blip. Jarring, shaky movement, walking down a sidewalk, passing a throng of people, cars whooshing by.

Blip. A homeless woman, staggering in a circle and shouting what sounds like "Prah! Prah! Prah!" as people avoid her.

Blip. A speck, blurry and slightly out of focus, darts through the air, something dark hanging from it. The camera zooms in, revealing the speck as Iron Man, the black creature smothering him. They smash into the ground, and the crowd around the viewer gasps, screams, shuffles back and forth, jostling the camera. Off-screen, Yulia curses, takes a few steps sideways to a better vantage point. The screen clears, focuses on Iron Man, on his knees, firing desperately at the monster as it strangles him. Then a car comes skidding into view; Tony recognizes his Challenger. The camera zooms in on the driver as he steps out, pulling the harness on. There's a quick, clear shot of Ivan's face, glaring and determined, as he fires up the whips and snaps them around the creature's neck. The crowd goes crazy again, and the camera shakes, falls to the ground a moment, is quickly snatched back up to show Vanko lashing the monster to bits, helping the hero up, setting him in the car and turning back to face the black being. They fight, slashes of light and dark, the view obscured for a few moments when steam explodes across the lot. Iron Man darts back into the fray, blasting and running, and the beast stabs Vanko. The camera zooms again, close-up of him falling, Tony trying to get to him, the Avengers appearing, SWAT coming in their helicopter. Ivan being taken away. Then a blank screen.

"You said," Tony begins carefully, "you're a student?"

Yulia looks a little confused. "Yeah. College."

"You got loans to pay back?"

"Um... yeah."

"Not anymore you don't." He closes the camera and sets it on his lap. "Stark Industries is officially taking care of you and you family from now on."

Yulia's eyes grow wide. "What? Wow. Really?"

"Really. Consider yourself financially backed for the rest of your life."

"Wow."

They set Yulia up in the biggest, fanciest, highest-security (and pet-friendly) hotel in the area. Pepper walks the girl to her room, explaining the details of standing witness and leaving Tony to re-watch the video in the car.

"I'm kind of curious," Miss Potts says, glancing sideways at the girl as Cassidy pads alongside them. "Why exactly are you doing this? I mean, sticking your neck out like this for a complete stranger."

Yulia looks at the older woman in slight surprise. "He's not. I mean, _I_ don't know him, but my mother did. When he was a kid."

It's Pepper's turn to be surprised. "What? Tony?"

"No, no. Vanko. Ivan. She- my mother is from Russia, and she used to babysit him. When he was young." Her gaze drops. "Um, but then her parents sold her to the mob to pay off her father's gambling debt. Then when Ivan was 13, he robbed a liquor store trying to get money to free her. He went to jail, made some friends in the mob, and got her sent to America."

"Wow." Pepper can't help but stare. "So... this is like you paying him back?"

"She heard about him, I guess, getting arrested and all that, and it just kind of... it really upset her. I didn't even realize it was him- she used to tell me about him, this skinny little genius kid that she called Little Vanya. That day he got arrested, I was shooting some footage of the city, and I just happened to be there when it went down. Then my mom recognized him, and it just seemed too much of a coincidence."

"Well, thank god for coincidences," Pepper smiles and leaves her to her room.


	6. I Will Not Doubt You

Dear god I am so very ill right now. I think I have slept more in the past three days than I have in about three months. I feel very, very poorly, so I dunno how quickly the next chapter will be up, but... Next chapter is for porn! So YAAAAYYY. Please keep reading and reviewing!

~...~

Tony and Pepper pace anxiously outside the judge's chambers as she and the attorneys watch the video Stark introduced.

"This is gonna work," he says, turning to begin another lap.

"I know, Tony. That's the fourth time you've said that."

"It's gonna work. This'll kill the DA's offense, get the case dismissed faster than-"

"I _know_, Tony. You've told me." Pepper pats her friend on the shoulder. "Don't worry."

"Worry? I'm not worried, 'cause this is gonna work."

She rolls her eyes and starts to say something, but the door swings open and Ivan's attorney steps out to talk to them.

"Well?" The billionaire leans forward, waiting.

"Well, she saw the video."

"_And_?" Star looks like he's about five seconds from strangling this guy.

"...And she's dismissing the charges. We're heading back to the courtroom now so she can announce."

"Son of a bitch, you couldn't just say that?" Tony lets out a whoop and goes running down the hall.

"Tony," Pepper catches his arm before he enters. "I just have to say... look, if this does work- how much longer do you think you can keep him locked up in the house? The cops are just looking for an excuse to nab him again. Face it, Tony, he's a super-intelligent, convicted murderer who has... I'm not sure if 'feelings' is exactly the word, but... 'cravings' and 'concerns' for you, certainly. There's no way he's just gonna let you run around getting very-nearly-killed every day without charging out to intervene! I'm surprised he lasted this long without snapping and killing everyone that looks at you."

He snorts. "You make it sound like a crush."

"Tony." She lifts an eyebrow. "It _is_ a crush."

He flashes a quick, 100-watt grin and ducks into the courtroom.

~::~

"...so, in light of this new evidence, I find the defendant, Ivan Vanko, not guilty of the charge of attempted murder."

Ivan can't help but gape for a moment at the judge, who looks at him in consideration before adding, "And, due to the heroic efforts shown on this tape, including the actions which resulted in near-fatal wounds while attempting to save Mr. Stark, the United States government is pleased to repeal all criminal charges against Mr. Vanko." She smiles for the first time. "You are free to go."

An hour later Tony is waiting, alone, outside the processing room, bouncing around like a hyperactive kid that's chugged three Mountain Dews in a row. When a door behind him opens, he turns, ready to deliver an ice-shattering grin-

-only to see Hammer step out of the courtroom, eyes down. The blonde heads for the side door, obviously planning to leave the court as quickly as possible without attracting any attention. Tony smirks.

"Hey, Justin," he calls, the smirk growing when he sees the younger man flinch a little. "Makin' a run for it before Ivan gets out and rips you in half?"

Hammer's eyes dart over Stark's shoulder, scanning for the aforementioned angry Russian. "Seems like the most logical course of action, Mr. Vanko being a dangerous and unreasonable man who doesn't appreciate a generous offer when he-"

Iron Man laughs. "Damn, man, you're a sore loser. Having a hard time swallowing the fact that we won?"

"It'll be a brief victory, Tony," Hammer says, face darkening. "There won't be a 'we' for very long, you can be sure of that."

"Was that a very thinly-veiled threat?" Stark shakes his head. "Justin, Justin, you need some better Bad Guy lines."

"It wasn't a threat, Tony. I don't need to do anything to fuck with the two of you. You'll fuck it up all on your own." The blonde grins.

"What do you mean?"

"What do I mean? I mean, take a look at yourself. Take a look at him. You've seen how loyal your new dog is; you think when you get bored of him he's just gonna walk away?"

Tony frowns. "I don't plan on getting bored of him, but thanks for the relationship advice-"

"Of _course_ you'll get bored of him!" Hammer throws his arms wide, a showman displaying his point. "You're _Tony_ _Stark_. The longest you've ever held a relationship was three weeks."

"I find it creepy that you know that, Justin," Tony says, quirking a brow.

The smaller man shakes his head, continues. "You'll come home, drunk, with some bimbo, maybe two, on your arm and he'll be gone like _that_," he snaps his fingers, triumphant. "And who's gonna be waiting for that to happen?" He jabs both thumbs at his own chest. "This guy."

Stark stares a moment, eyebrow still raised, then exhales a puff of air through his nose and says, "I should grab you and hold you here so Ivan can kill you when he gets out here."

Hammer does that nervous glance again, which is some small satisfaction. Tony shrugs. "But I'd hate for him to get arrested again so soon. Go on, get outta here."

The underhanded weapons producer slinks away, and as he reaches the door Tony calls, "Oh, Justin- one more thing."

Hammer turns, ready to snark, just as the hero draws back an arm and catches his jaw with a clean uppercut.

The blonde goes flying into the door, sliding slowly to the floor with a groan as Stark crouches, smiling. "You'd better hope you never run into me when I'm in the suit. I know at least three ways to kill you and get away with it." He stands. "Oh, and Justin, it's awfully rude to call people dogs. Besides, Ivan's much more like a wildcat." He winks, sticks his hands in his pockets as he turns away. "If you know what I mean."

An instant later the door behind him closes and the door in front of him opens. A disgruntled, tired-but-relieved looking Ivan Vanko steps into the hall, right arm still bound, dressed in the street clothes that Pepper dropped off at the courthouse.

"You crazy son of a bitch," Tony yells victoriously, throwing his arms around the newly-freed man. Ivan stiffens and half-returns the hug with his unbound arm, and before he can pull away, Stark tilts his head and whispers into his ear, "I am going to do horrible, filthy things to you the second we get back to the house. You will not be able to walk for a week; you will be in a sex-coma."

Vanko snorts and shoves him away, trying to hide the pleased grin that has found its way onto his face. "Don't be stupid."

"What?" Tony blinks innocently, slinging an arm around Whiplash's waist as they descend the courthouse steps.

"Being- like _that_," Ivan swats the hand away as it creeps up his shirt. "In public. Would ruin all my hard work, keeping you from prison for terrorist conspiracy."

"Ahh, but haven't you heard?" Stark grins wickedly. "You're not a terrorist anymore."

The villain has just enough time to blink and think _Oh_- before Tony turns and kisses him, hard, in broad daylight. Ivan groans, tries to pull away, but Stark has already wrapped himself around the Russian, locking his arms behind Vanko's neck, pressing their bodies together. Somehow they manage to stumble-walk out the doors-

-right into the flashing bulbs of the mob of reporters at the base of the steps.

Ivan glances around in surprise (not easy to do with a playboy superhero nibbling on his ear) as the cameras whirr and the crowd murmurs and gasps. He pulls away and Tony, still entwined around him, blinks and smiles pleasantly at them.

"Oh. Good morning, everybody."

For a few moments, the herd of viewers is silent in shock. Choosing to exploit this moment, Stark, maintaining his cheery grin, disentangles himself from Vanko and leads the Russian through the mob toward his car. Ever the gentleman, Tony opens the passenger door for Ivan, promptly ruining the upstanding moment by smacking the villain soundly on the ass. Whiplash turns to shoot a death-glare at his liberator, but the door slams shut before he can.

Tony whistles nonchalantly and climbs into the driver's side, shutting the door just as the spell breaks and the media comes rushing at him like a tide, screaming questions. "Lovely seeing you all," he calls through the window as he pulls away.

"You are insane," Ivan says almost-affectionately.

"Insanely awesome, I think, is the phrase you were looking for." Stark adds with a self-satisfied grin as he shifts gears and turns onto the highway. "Hmm... I should've driven one of my automatics."

"Why?"

The billionaire casts a suggestive glance at his passenger. "Well, I need both hands to drive a stick. And I _do_ still owe you... Remember?"

Vanko rolls his eyes. "_Da_, I remember. It can wait." He doesn't want to say it aloud, but honestly, he's absolutely exhausted. He slept maybe three hours a night in prison, constantly on alert. "How long until we get there?"

"About an hour," Tony looks at him, noticing the bags under the Russian's eyes, the way his head is canting slightly to the side. "Take a nap; you look like hell. I'll wake you when we get there."

Ivan mutters a dubious thanks and lets his eyes drift shut, warm and comfortable in the heated seat of Stark's car. For the first twenty minutes or so, he struggles to stay awake, instinct preventing him from feeling completely safe. Half an hour in, Tony feels something thud against his shoulder. He peers from the corner of his eye and sees that Vanko has finally succumbed and is slumped in his seat, mouth slightly open, head resting on the American's arm. The hero smiles fondly, brushes a stray hair away from one bruised eye, and shifts down a gear, slowing the car. Make the trip last a little longer.


	7. I'll Dream About You

Felina Fullstop: THIS IS FOR YOOOUUUUUU! You are epic and you make me cry and scream and stuff. Here is some fluffy fluff for inspiration. Can't wait to read the next chapter of Harm's Way!

I think this fic is gonna have one more chapter (this time it really will be smut, I promise!) BUT I have the next installment planned. It's... kind of cracky/angsty. I dunno. I'ma work on it.

Oh! Before I forget: I've done some illustrations for this fic (and I'm working on some for Harm's Way); they're over on Deviantart. My screen name's ToGainYourTrust; the pictures are in my gallery if anyone feels bored enough to check them out. That is, if anyone's reading this. .

I'll be quiet now.

~::~

Forty-five minutes into the drive, Ivan starts to twitch, quiet grunts and raspy noises coming from his throat. Tony looks over at him, expecting to see the Russian waking up and yawning. Instead he is greeted by the sight of Vanko, still asleep, scowl lines deepening the shadows on his face as his hands curl into fists. He twitches again, growls, one leg kicking against the door like it's an invisible enemy.

"Ivan." Tony is hesitant to touch the sleeping man; he's learned the hard way that waking Ivan can be hazardous to one's health.

Vanko shifts, frowns, bares his gold-capped teeth in a silent snarl but doesn't wake.

"Ivan!" Stark nudges the villain's undamaged left shoulder, then has to jerk away as the larger man lashes out instinctively. "Ivan, wake up!"

Ivan flinches, gasps, sits bolt upright, eyes flying open and ranting in Russian. "_Nyet! __Я убью Вас! Nyet_-"

He stops mid-sentence, eyes still wide, breath coming in short bursts, looking around wildly.

"Hey," risking a black eye, Tony reaches over again, touches Vanko's arm lightly to get his attention. "Hey. It's okay." He rubs Whiplash's shoulder soothingly.

Ivan turns to look at him, that piercing, intent stare locking onto the American's face. He's silent for a few moments, scanning Stark, and then he nods, seemingly reassured. He releases a heavy breath, runs his left hand through his hair. "I'm fine," he says hoarsely, and it's unclear whether he's trying to convince his companion or himself.

"You're not fine," Stark says, not releasing Vanko's shoulder. "What was that?"

"Nothing." The Russian adjusts his bound arm, wincing. "Bad dream."

"Yeah, you get a lot of those, I've noticed." It's true; too many times Tony has woken up to the sensation of being kicked to the floor by the thrashing of his bedmate, who always denies it when woken. "What was it this time?"

"Nothing."

"Ivan."

"Drop it, Stark."

Tony sighs and lets the matter go for now. They're almost at the house, anyway.

They pull into the driveway, the house framed by the brilliantly sunlit ocean, and park in the garage. The hero steps around his car to open the door for the injured man.

Vanko gets out and waits a few beats, eyes following Stark as the billionaire shuts the door and locks the car. Tony turns, notices the Russian watching him with an expression that clearly has thought behind it.

"What?" He orders Jarvis to shut the garage door, tossing his keys onto a nearby workbench.

"Tony."

"Hm?"

"Thank you."

Tony turns in surprise, about to speak, and Vanko steps forward and catches his parted lips in a kiss. It's so rare for Ivan to be the one to initiate a kiss that for a few beats Stark is too stunned to respond. Ivan senses this hesitation; he starts to pull away, and the American snaps into action, lunging into the contact. His hands come up automatically, locking behind the taller man's neck and pulling him back in. The Russian tilts his head, runs his tongue over the hero's, then pulls away enough to nip at his lip, drawing a shiver from the playboy.

After a long, lingering moment, Tony leans back (noticing that Vanko's left hand has somehow found its way around his waist) and releases a breath. "I've missed you," he says solemnly, framing Ivan's bruised face with his hands.

The villain's forest-hazel eyes search Tony's, like he's looking for a lie or hitch. He sighs, tips forward so that their foreheads are pressed together, leaning against each other.

"Twoooiiit!"

"Son of a-!" Tony ducks as the bird hurtles through the air toward them. Ivan chuckles, extends a hand for the little demon to perch on. It lands, walks up his arm to his shoulder, and nibbles lovingly at his hair, shooting Tony a beady-eyed glare.

"_Я тосковал без Вас, также_," Vanko says quietly, stroking the cockatoo's crest.

Stark translates the foreigner's sentence quickly: _I missed you, too_. He wonders if the statement is meant for the bird or for him. He hopes it's for him.

Still toting his feathery companion, Ivan heads for the kitchen. Tony follows, trading dirty looks with the bird. The Russian begins to shuffle through cabinets, frowning.

"No vodka?"

"Oh. Uh," Stark glances around self-consciously, trying to come up with an answer other than _I fell into an Ivan-withdrawal-induced stupor and drank everything alcoholic I could get my hands on_. "Uh... I'll get more tomorrow," he offers.

Vanko furrows a brow. "Cannot celebrate victory without vodka."

"No?" Tony grins. "Are you sure?" He takes a few slow, predatory steps toward the physicist. "'Cause I'm pretty sure I can think of a couple ways," he stands behind Whiplash, keeping out of bird-range, and places both hands on the ex-con's hips, "That we could celebrate..." he noses the hair away from Ivan's right ear, kisses up his neck. "...Without the necessity of vodka."

The villain makes a noncommittal noise, but he leans back into the warmth of the wealthy American. The bird, sensing that it will not be welcome on its current perch for much longer, shuffles down its owner's arm and onto the counter, where it begins to viciously attack the potted bromeliad Tony bought on a whim two weeks ago.

"C'mon," maintaining his light hold on Vanko's hips, Stark gives a gentle tug and steers the larger man toward the bedroom.

Pressed together in the doorway, Tony helps the injured man peel off his shirt, leaving burning kisses down his torso. The hero undoes Vanko's buckle, slides his belt free slowly, lets it fall, his hands hovering over the zipper. He leans up, bites one of the small tattoos on Ivan's neck, then steps back and slowly sinks to his knees, pulling the zipper and sliding his pants down. He plants a kiss on each candle flame that adorns the Russian's hips, then stands and nods toward the bed. "Lie on your stomach," he gives Vanko a devious little smile. "I'll be right back."

Grumbling half-heartedly at being ordered around, Ivan climbs onto the bed and, after a few moments of awkward adjustment, ends up on his belly, his bound arm hanging over the side of the bed, face buried in the pillows. In the brief moment he's alone in the room, he allows himself to take a deep breath and slowly release it into the Egyptian cotton, the knowledge that everything worked out washing over him. Then the bathroom door opens and he is immediately a line of solid tension once more, wary, trusting Stark enough to lie face-down but not enough to keep from flinching a little when the mattress dips.

"It's okay," Tony says, silent laughter in his voice. "You're out of prison, remember? I'm not gonna shank you."

Ivan grunts but remains on edge. He know full well that he owes his dubious rescuer, and he can't help but worry a little about just how the hero intends to take his payment. He feels fingers curl under the hem of his boxers, tug them down. He hears a bottle cap pop open, and he's about to roll over, yank down Stark's underwear and take him in his mouth instead, because he's pretty damn sure that if they do what Tony's planning in this position, Ivan will tear quite a few stitches-

-but instead of a slick finger between his legs, there's a pair of oiled hands between his shoulder blades, rubbing circles into his spine.

"Wh-" he starts to sit up, but Tony's hands press him gently but firmly back down, still rolling over his muscular back with slow, practiced movements. Stark uses the heels of his palms to knead the knot of taut tendon he finds at the base of the prone man's neck.

"Jesus, you're tense." Tony leans down to press a light kiss to the ink on the back of one shoulder, his lotion-softened fingertips digging into the coils of muscle under Whiplash's weathered skin. "I'm guessing you've never had a massage before."

"Of course; I went to spa every day in Russia," the ex-con snipes.

Iron Man snorts. "Hilarious." He alternates pressure, working his way down the rope of stress that is Vanko's spine. His thumbs press into the indentations just above the villain's pelvis, and he has a moment of elation when the figure beneath him lets out a muffled groan and relaxes a fraction of an inch. He slides his palms back up, curling his fingers and dragging them along Ivan's skin, inducing goosebumps. He hums quietly to himself, mapping the network of scars and tattoos as they shift and roll like waves over the muscles under his hands. Bending his head again, he trails his lips over a huge, mottled, boot-shaped bruise on the Russian's ribs. That earns him another quiet not-quite-a-moan, and Vanko sinks a little deeper into the mattress. Tony smiles and traces lines with his fingertips back down, circling the base of Ivan's vertebrae, kneading the firm swell of his ass, rubbing the thigh just under each buttock. This time it's definitely a moan he gets.

Stark brings his hands back up to the injured man's shoulders again, sliding his fingers up Vanko's neck and into his hair. He trails one digit over the sensitive spot behind the ex-con's ear, readjusts himself on the bed so that he can kiss a line from Ivan's outstretched left wrist up to his neck. Whiplash makes another sound, somewhere between a sigh and a groan, and mutters something.

"Hmm?" Tony pulls his mouth away enough to ask, "You say something?"

Ivan shifts, clears his throat, and says into the pillow, "Didn't get there in time."

"Get where?" The hero sits up.

"To you. In- in the car earlier, in dream. Nightmare." The long-haired man turns his head slightly, peering up with one eye over his shoulder. "Didn't... get to city in time. Didn't get to you."

One of the things that's so very alluring to him about Vanko, Tony will realize eventually, is the Russian's ability to completely derail him with a few words. This is one of those times, and he sits for a few moments, processing. He swallows, takes a deep breath, and lays down next to Ivan. He leans in and kisses him, pulling away to tug the rumpled sheets up over both of them. "It's okay," he murmurs as the lights dim automatically. "You got there in time." He grins wryly. "You're my hero."

Ivan snorts derisively and gives him a shove that could almost be described as playful. "Smartass."

"That's me," Stark admits, yawning and settling into his pillow. "Oh," he adds, opening his eyes as if just remembering something, "Fair warning: in the morning, there will be massaging of a slightly different sort."

Vanko rolls his eyes and nods, fighting off a yawn of his own. "Of course."

The American drifts off quickly, limbs sprawled across the bed, snoring quietly. His companion is slower to fall asleep; he rolls onto his back, careful of his arm, and stares up at the ceiling a while, the darkness curling in around the bed.

_Good to be home_, he thinks sleepily, heaving a sigh and letting his eyes close. It only lasts a second; his eyes snap open in consternation. _Home_? He frowns. _When the hell did this place become_-

His thoughts are interrupted by Tony, who rolls over and throws an arm around him, cuddling closer and smiling in his sleep. Without even realizing it, Ivan returns the smile, the edge of his mouth twitching upward. _Home_.


	8. They Won't Hear Us Screw Away The Day

Sorry this took SO DAMN LONG. First I was sick, then I was just lazy, and then my guinea pig died. :( So yeah.

Here it is: Final Chapter! Phew! Of course, like I said before, I have another installment lined up. Dear god I will never be free. Oh well, as long as people are reading it, I will keep writing it! Love to all of you! (Specially Felina for being amazing and inspirational, ZombieSmasher for kicking my ass to update, and janinePSA for commenting and enjoying!) Rock on, everybody!

~::~

Ivan shifts, slowly rising to consciousness. He lets a soft sigh escape but doesn't open his eyes, content and warm and unwilling to wake up just yet from the best night's sleep he's had in at least ten years. He's so at ease, still relaxed from the massage, that it actually takes him a few moments to realize that he's being watched. His eyes flick open, his head turning.

He is greeted by a pair of warm brown eyes, only inches from his own. Tony smiles, watching the Russian blink and scoot away when he realizes that their bodies are pressed together, limbs tangled under the covers.

"'Morning," the hero says pleasantly, reaching up and tracing a set of perpendicular scars on Vanko's right arm.

"You were watching me sleep?" Ivan arches a brow.

"Well..." Tony lets his fingers trail down, outlining the wings of the bird tattooed beneath the scars. "Yeah, but, y'know, not long enough for it to be creepy. You're... I dunno, you're always scowling, even when you sleep, usually, so it was kind of nice to see you _actually_ _resting_ for once."

The villain huffs and rubs his eyes, reaching for the nightstand. He grabs his reading glasses, which have taken up permanent residence there, and slips them on before turning back to fix his former enemy with a low growl, his unbandaged hand coming up to run a quick path up Stark's arm, clamping around the back of his neck and yanking him in for a bruisingly perfect kiss. Tony moans into it, his fingers moving to the larger man's torso and circling a nipple.

They break away for air and he gasps, "Jesus fuck, is it bad that I got a boner just from that?"

Ivan does one of his little half-chuckles and drags his fingers through the American's thick hair. "You _did_ miss me," he says with a smirk.

"Bet your ass I did- oh-" Tony arches a little as Vanko's hand travels down his back and around his hip, coming to rest inside his boxers, just above his arousal. He bucks, trying to urge the hand down a few more inches. "Ivan... god, please, Ivan-" The plea melts into a whine as rough fingers encircle him and stroke upward with agonizingly amazing slowness. He squirms and rolls onto his back, pulling Ivan on top of him so that their chests press together. The villain winces but doesn't cease his movements, enjoying the expressions that flit across his victim's face too much to stop. On a sudden whim, Vanko leans down and nips at Stark's ear, ghosts a breath over his cheek, and begins whispering.

Tony's eyes, which had slipped shut, shoot open. His lips part and he runs his tongue over them, mouth suddenly dry, unable to stop the moan that escapes when Ivan starts murmuring filthy endearments in Russian into his ear. "Oh god..." He bites his lip and clutches Whiplash's shoulders, not noticing the hissed warning as his nails dig into a bruise, his hips jerking into the tightening grip. "Fuck, Ivan, god yes-" Keeping up his running commentary, Vanko shifts, moving his right arm to a more comfortable position. He feels his glasses sliding down his nose, but can't be bothered to fix them right now.

Iron Man gasps, catches Ivan's lips with his own, cutting off the Russian's husky voice and making him rut involuntarily against the American's leg. Tony stiffens, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his lover's neck, moaning into the kiss as he comes.

Ivan strokes him through his orgasm, feeling the younger man's breath gust against his, then pulls away and sits up, wiping his hand on the sheets carelessly. Tony lays panting, watching with lust-dark eyes as the ex-con adjusts his glasses and offers what could almost be a smile. Pushing himself up, the hero kisses up the line of stitches on Vanko's chest, nuzzles under his jaw. "Ivan..." His hands slide down, thumbs circling the eyes tattooed over each of the physicist's hips, guiding him to lie down once more on his back. He flashes the villain a wicked grin and crouches over him predatorily, wetting his lips again. He trails his tongue up one of the inked candles, kisses the waves beneath the tattooed boat, and finally lowers his head to take Ivan in his mouth.

Vanko's breath escapes in a startled expletive, the reaction he almost always has to such attentions. His free hand fists in the sheets, twisting them as his hips roll upward. His eyes roll back in pleasure and he lets out an unabashed groan when he feels Stark's tongue swipe over him. Tony moves his hands to pin Whiplash to the bed, keeping him from thrusting and relishing the helpless moan and the way his former rival's hand grabs desperately at his wrist, searching for purchase. Tony hums and the grip on his arm tightens almost painfully, the hips under him shaking with the effort not to move. He turns his hand and entwines their fingers, rubbing his thumb along Ivan's palm in an almost unconsciously soothing gesture. He takes a breath and swallows Vanko's entire length, letting the barest tips of his teeth graze the skin as he does so. Ivan shudders and shouts the hero's name, and Tony swallows again as the Russian releases. He pulls back, grinning, and crawls up the mattress to kiss the man beneath him, lazily exploring his mouth.

They part, Stark leaving a warm peck on Ivan's cheek. The physicist attempts to look irritated, but is too sated to work up the energy.

Tony sighs. "Breakfast?"

"What about it?" Vanko glances at his companion, fixing his glasses.

"You want some?" The billionaire reaches across the larger man and takes hold of his uninjured arm, kissing his wrist.

Ivan shrugs, winces, adjusts his arm again. "Sure."

~::~

Pepper arrives twenty minutes later, carrying several folders and three rolled-up magazines. She knocks four times, waits a few beats before unlocking the door, and makes sure to walk _very_ _loudly_ down the hallway, knocking over a million-dollar vase on the way as a precaution.

"Guys?" She calls, just in case. "I realize that your victory over the judicial system has made you ravingly horny, Tony, but if I walk in on the two of you going at it one more time, I will- oh." She comes to a sudden halt, spotting a shockingly clothed, grumpy-looking Iron Man seated on the sofa in the living room. "Uh... hi, Tony. Ivan make you sleep on the couch?"

"Oh, I'm just 'banned from the kitchen' because of _one_ teensy tiny little mishap that happened _one_ time," Tony snipes, crossing his arms sullenly.

Pepper frowns a little, thinking. "Would this be the 'one teensy tiny little mishap' that resulted in you having to buy a new frying pan because you attempted to cook using a blast from the suit?"

"It was set at the lowest level! And no one was injured, if you recall. Flash frying is an exact science; you get one little thing wrong and the whole thing goes to hell." He takes his aggression out on his coffee, sipping viciously.

Miss Potts shakes her head, a smile touching the corners of her mouth. "Well, honestly I think it was kind of sweet, you using your super-tech to show off to your super-genius boyfriend."

Starks chokes on his coffee, liquid spraying from his nose as he sputters and coughs. He wipes his mouth and stares at his assistant. "If Ivan ever heard you use that word to describe him, he'd murder you. And then probably me, for spite."

She tilts her head, looking contemplative. "No, I think he'd just blush furiously, look confused, stand in the doorway awkwardly for a few minutes, then offer us some _blini_."

Tony glances at her quizzically. "Why the hell would you think that?"

She shrugs and peers over her boss' shoulder. "Because that's what he's doing."

The hero practically jumps out of his skin, coffee spilling across his lap, and turns in alarm to see the Russian standing behind him, holding a plate of the aforementioned _blini_, looking, as Pepper described, confused and awkward. It disappears almost instantly, but for a second there is a definite red tinge to the villain's cheeks as well.

"Uhh..." Tony says intelligently.

Ivan clears his throat and sets the plate on the coffee table. Pepper makes a silent note to buy him an apron, because the mental image she has is too perfect.

"So, Pep..." Stark grabs one of the Russian pancakes. "What brings you here so early?"

She blinks. "It's two in the afternoon."

"I fail to see your point."

She _tsks_. "Anyway, I came to inform you of the repercussions of your little... maneuver yesterday at the courthouse."

"These are delicious," Tony comments, snagging another _blini_.

"_Спасибо_," (Thanks) Vanko takes a seat.

"Continue, Pepper." The playboy waves his pancake encouragingly.

She unrolls one of the magazines and tosses it onto the table, displaying the cover, which is a high-definition photo of Tony and Ivan attached at the mouth. She drums her fingers on the edge of the table. "This is gonna seem crazy-"

"Compared to what?" Ivan asks, shooting a mocking glance at Tony, who has the audacity to look offended.

Pepper nods understandingly at the Russian, then coughs and glances down at her papers. "Okay. Well, I guess I have good news, shockingly. Apparently, for once, the media decided to put a positive spin on your shenanigans. The liberal mags are calling it a 'huge leap for gay celebrities', and the right-wings are mostly ignoring you, as usual. Except for the New Frontiersman, which is claiming that your actions are influenced by the devil, but pretty much everyone considers that a parody. Mostly." She looks up at them and smiles. "So, basically... you're in the clear. Also, Ivan, you've been voted 'Sexiest Baddie' by Allure magazine."

Vanko looks nonplussed, and Tony looks torn between thrilled and envious. "Allure has a 'Sexiest Baddie' poll? Is there a-"

"Yes, there is a 'Sexiest Hero' poll, Tony," Miss Potts says without changing her expression.

He perks up. "Really? Am I-"

"You're number three."

"What? Who-"

"Batman's number two, Wolverine's number one."

Stark opens his mouth to complain, pauses to consider, and nods. "Okay, I'll give Logan that one, but I'm pretty sure I'm hotter than Bruce." He looks back and forth at his companions. "Right? I'm hotter than Bruce. Right?"

Pepper coughs. Ivan is silent before asking, "Who is Bruce?"

"Batman," the redhead says with a grin.

"Hmm."

"I know; I wanna grate cheese on his abs." Miss Potts bites her lip.

"You guys are a huge help. Really. Your support is overwhelming." Tony rolls his eyes.

Vanko arches an eyebrow. "Don't worry; his suit cannot withstand blast from plasma cannon."

The hero points a thoughtful finger at him. "...I like the way you think."

"See, now," his assistant leans forward and pats him on the knee. "Batman's nemesis tries to kill him with clever bombs; yours thinks up ways to kill fellow heroes. Healthy."

"Very healthy," Tony agrees, beaming.

"Right, well, I'll go now," Pepper grabs the magazine and backs out. "Let you two get back to your... whatever it is you do."

Iron Man nods, still smiling. "Seeya, Pep."

The second the door closes, he turns and slings his arms around the villain. "So... quick question. Would you punch me if I said you were adorable when you blush and when you plot Batman's downfall?"

"_Da_."

Stark ponders this a few moments. "Hm. Know what? I'm gonna risk it."

~::~

Hope you enjoyed!


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